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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204893">The Tutor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazemayonnaise/pseuds/bazemayonnaise'>bazemayonnaise</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Constipation, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, No beta we die like wwx, Parenthood, Sharing a Bed, Spoilers to the end of Season 2, modern au...... but grogu is still a baby alien. no worldbuilding only pining fools.</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:01:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,215</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204893</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bazemayonnaise/pseuds/bazemayonnaise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is by complete accident that Din even sees the poster. He's sat outside a restaurant on his bike, hanging low on the handlebars, scrolling through his phone when a piece of slightly-sodden paper adheres itself to his helmet.</p><p>'Martial Arts for Toddlers', the page advertises. 'A great way for any child to learn self-defence, meditation, physical and social development, or to let off some energy!'</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>715</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Tutor</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/steviekat/gifts">steviekat</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>cw; off-screen violence, references to canonical childhood trauma</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Excuse me?" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn't look up. His bolt cutters crunch through the basic bicycle chain and he's already halfway down the street before the man, presumably the bike's previous owner, can get another word in. His legs pump a steady rhythm despite the slightly-off height of the pedals, his body leaning into the wind as he swerves between cars, lorries, pedestrians. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken several shifts to get used to the unwieldy weight of the thermal box strapped to his back, but it's now almost as much a part of him as his sleek silver crash helmet is. It now feels odd to walk about his life without the weighty pack, so it no longer hampers his speed nor skill as he races through the city streets, cutting corners, gliding down staircases and skidding through winding passages absolutely not built for bikes ridden at the daredevil speed of men like Din Djarin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He is not out of breath as he hands a bag of takeaway to a student on the fifth floor of an apartment complex, and he is also not surprised to find the bike he'd stolen not ten minutes ago is not where he left it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sighs and goes to find another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is by complete accident that Din even sees the poster. He's sat outside a restaurant on his bike, hanging low on the handlebars, scrolling through his phone when a piece of slightly-sodden paper adheres itself to his helmet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He very nearly wads the poster up as he scrapes it from his helmet, only to stop himself when he sees the word 'toddler', as he often does nowadays. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's almost as if his body has been rewired to prevent him from taking any action that might, in some way, hinder his kid's chances at - well, anything - and so instead of throwing the grotty page into the gutter, he reads it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>'Martial Arts for Toddlers', the page advertises. 'A great way for any child to learn self-defence, meditation, physical and social development, or to let off some energy!' </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a photo of a very young looking man giving an awkward thumbs-up at the camera, a sleek robot to his left and a stumpy one to his right. Din isn't entirely sure what robots have to do with teaching toddlers martial arts, and he isn't sure he wants to entrust his child with someone who looks like they're practically fresh from the womb themself, but… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It can't hurt to check the classes out he thinks as his phone pings with a new delivery. He clicks to accept it, stuffs the page into his thick jacket, and goes to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dojo is very much not a dojo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The run-down community hall is built like a shed around the back of an equally dilapidated church, and it takes Din almost twenty minutes to work out how to access the building before realising the fire door is being propped open with a brick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hall has scabby parquet flooring that was probably, in its heyday, a decent dance floor. There's a small stage at the end framed with heavy, moth-eaten green curtains, and the outer edges of the hall are lined with stacks of stained and crooked red plastic chairs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The hall is empty but for one man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man is the same man from the poster, though Din is happy to note he's aged since it was taken. He's perhaps in his thirties or early forties, carefully put together, if a little dopey seeming. He's got a blond mop of hair that hasn't changed since the days of his photographed youth, and it would be almost disarming if Din wasn't made immediately on edge by the way he carried himself. The instructor holds his weight, his posture in a way Din has only ever seen a few people hold themselves, with a dignified and graceful but relentless power.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Why a man who teaches toddlers to do rolls on soft mats is exuding the energy of a seasoned fighter, Din doesn't want to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I think you want the door two doors down," the man calls from across the hall, clearly used to the assumed mistake. "This is 18C, 18A are the folks who order the delivery."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din shakes his head. He reaches behind himself and instead of the thermobox he pulls Grogu from his baby-carrier. "You teaching a class tonight?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh!" the instructor says, a beam lighting his face. "A new student! I'm sorry, with the helmet, I thought you were - I mistook you for a delivery driver."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I am."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh! Well that certainly makes my impasse slightly less embarrassing!" The instructor glides across the hall, hand already out and scooping Din's own for a shake. "I'm Luke, I'm the Martial Arts for Toddlers teacher, and yes, I know, not a very inventive name, I've been told. And this is?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Grogu."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Gregory!" Luke says, grinning at the child. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Grogu</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, sorry! Hey, Grogu!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu retreats into Din's arms as he usually does on being accosted by strangers, and Din is, as ever, thankful for the thick black screen of the helmet so his protective smile is protected from being witnessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And how old is Grogu?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's a silence. Din watches Luke make faces at Grogu until he realises Din hasn't answered the question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry, I asked how old is your child?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din continues to look at Luke, and watches as Luke's features warp from delight at meeting a perfectly adorable child to mild consternation at being ignored to a vague dawning of worry at the strange man in a helmet carrying a small child without knowing a simple answer like the child's age. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's a foundling," Din says by way of explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right," Luke says, taking a half-step back and clearly putting his hackles up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So nobody knows how old he is," Din continues.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"But you are his father? his legal guardian?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"This is the way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke squints at him, looking, hard, as if he might be able to see Din through the tinted glass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't know what that means, but hey! Who am I to judge?" Luke claps his hands, his big smile returning. "Family issues am I right? Alright, let's get this class started!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din looks around, as if he'll find the hall has suddenly filled in the time the conversation has happened. "Where are your other students?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What other students?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din frowns. "How long have you been running this lesson."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"About ten years?" Luke says, warming up his shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why aren't there other students."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>This is the way</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Luke mimics, and Din hates how smoothly the smug bastard says it. "I've never taught a baby before."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's hyper intelligent, and naturally gifted."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can he stand?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes, yes he can," Din says, bending to deposit Grogu on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can he speak?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No. Not words."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"All right Grogu, how about we get ourselves warmed up, hm!"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke begins to whirl his arms in a slightly exaggerated warm-up, o make exaggerated wheeling motions at Grogu, who looks between the two men, hesitant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din makes a little scooting motion, trying to channel encouragement. Grogu focuses slightly harder on Luke, beginning to make more inquisitive noises, and his big eyes flash with entertainment as Luke brings a shiny baton from behind his back, whirling it around himself in a display of colour and light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu is well and truly enchanted, his small hands reaching out to grip at it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll be back in an hour."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You're leaving?" Luke says, still whirling his stick for Grogu but attention on Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will that be a problem?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Well, typically the parent stays to watch the first lesson."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You going to hurt him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"If you did, I'd hunt you down and kill you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I believe you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll be back in an hour."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It helps if-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din goes to find another bike to steal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sneaks back into the hall 53 minutes later when a delivery has him at 18A. He’s under no illusion that Luke doesn’t notice, but it doesn’t seem like Grogu has, where he’s sat on the floor next to Luke, meditating.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din is surprised to find he’s slightly hurt that Grogu’s attention doesn’t instantly click to him as it usually does when he comes to collect him from his various childminders. But that’s good, he needs to remind himself, because that means Grogu is getting what is needed from this education: discipline, control, calm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din rests in the doorway, shoulder to the wall, and watches as the child takes calming breaths at pace with Luke. It’s actually fairly astounding to watch. He’s not sure Grogu has taken orders from anyone but Din, and even then rarely and briefly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Discipline, control, calm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Din reminds himself. Luke is clearly a good teacher, which is all Din had wanted. Thoughts like jealousy do nobody any good, least of all the child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Grogu,” Luke says into the quiet, “Daddy’s here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu’s ear’s immediately pick up, and he’s whirled to face Din with visible brightness. He picks himself up from the floor and begins to waddle in Din’s direction, arms out in a wordless demand to be picked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din hastens to do so, very much pleased to have the kid back in his arms after only an hour apart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was inconsolable,” Luke says from the floor, face neutral but eyes knowing. “He broke my favourite stick.” Luke inclines his head to the left where another one of the light batons lies in pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grogu,” Din reprimands. “You’re supposed to- learn, not break.” Din digs into his jacket pocket, pulling out his wallet. “It’s a specialised tool so I’m sure it costs more than this, but you can have what cash I have, I’ll come back with the full amount next time I swear-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din attempts to hand Luke the sparse wad of notes he’s saved up from his tips, but Luke just shakes his head, smile growing. “That was a compliment. As you say, he’s naturally gifted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din frowns, but replaces the money. It’s not like he doesn’t need it himself. “He is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fight?” Luke asks, his tone belaying nothing despite the loaded question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Used to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What family?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing you’d call an art.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke hums. "I'd hazard you'd beat me in a fight nine times out of ten. Why come to me? Why not teach Grogu yourself? Too afraid you might hurt him? Go easy on him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I beat. You train.” A look crosses Luke’s face. Encouraged, Din continues. “I want the child to be taught. Not how to win. Not how to destroy. How to breathe, how to defend, how to channel. I can’t give him that. You can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And if I were to say I’d like for him to train with me every day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d ask how much it would cost.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke laughs a small “Huh.” Luke stands and begins to pack his belongings away into a suitcase hidden by the curtain, unabashedly stepping out of his gi to pull on a pair of far tighter-fitting trousers, a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>form-fitting black turtleneck, then swirls an honest-to-god cape around his shoulders like he’s a model on a runway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din watches this all in a bemused but patient silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Despite the,” Luke waves a hand to indicate the decrepit hall, “It might surprise you to find out I’m not in this for the money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you in it for.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to start a school. My master taught me his art. He’s dead, now. I want to continue it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need money to start a school.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not wrong,” Luke says, “I’m very lucky to have… come into some. Family issues, you know. All I need are students. Or, student, singular. I’ve been looking for someone with Grogu’s talent for a long time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to pack up all this just because you had one hour with one child?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's hyper intelligent, and naturally gifted. And, more than that, he has you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me?” Din scoffs. “I carry him from place to place.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You certainly do,” Luke agrees with an unreadable smile. “So, yes. I’m willing to pack up all this and become Grogu’s live-in Nanny-teacher-master, at your soonest convenience.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’ll be early mornings, long training hours, holistic and comprehensive education from spiritual to physical to dietary. I’m happy on a sofa if you have one, the floor if you haven’t, or you’re more than welcome to move your and Grogu’s belongings into my own apartment, though that does come with the warning that it’s a fairly open house and the door is a revolving one. I sense you’re quite the private individual...”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Din.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I sense you’re quite the private individual, Din.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The earlier the better. I started far too late, and Grogu won’t be the child he is forever.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din looks around the hall, as if it might carry the answer for when strange men you’ve just met request the use of your sofa while filling the nanny spot you’d not been offering. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Din looks down at Grogu, who is making vague reachy-movements at the broken stick on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to see your apartment,” Din says. That, at least, might prove this Luke character isn’t lying about who he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My, Din, buy me dinner first.” Luke laughs at his own joke before hefting his suitcase. “Yes, of course, before I have time to dress it and hide my identity. I’ve got a car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll follow you on bike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense, bring it to the car park and I’ll put it in the trunk. Go on,” Luke dismisses, following behind the harried Din to turn off the hall’s lights and lock the doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you think of him?” Din asks Grogu as Luke walks round the other side of the building to start the car.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu looks up at Din and makes a noise. “You want to be taught by Master Luke?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu makes another sound. It doesn’t particularly sound like a yes, nor does it sound like a no.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, kid. I need something from you. This might be the rest of your life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu stares deeply, intently at Din through the helmet, almost hypnotising with those deep, dark eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he babbles something and goes to fiddle with the drawstring of Din’s hoodie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sighs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not my bike.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Din halts from where he’s been trying to load his bike into Luke’s car as Luke calls at him from the driver’s seat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My bike. You stole it last week. But that’s not it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all right, it was a piece of junk my brother in law re-gifted me. He was supposed to be taking better care of his health since he spends all day in his truck, but it sat in his garage for a decade and he decided it’d been long enough nobody would begrudge him hoisting it off on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was stolen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I watched you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it was stolen from me. After that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Luke makes a pointed glance at the bike being loaded into his car, then shrugs and looks away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din isn’t sure whether he should be thankful for or unsettled by Luke’s seeming acceptance of the illicit activities Din very clearly embarks on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The car is large, as black as Luke’s clothing, and unbesmirched by mud-stains, scratches or dust. It looks almost alien sat as it is in the weed-ridden car park, like some secret service vehicle has been dumped on the lot, or like a spaceship in a backwater village.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New ride?” Din asks as he straps himself into the front seat, the child cradled in his lap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, no, I just like my things to be clean.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite saying so, Luke doesn’t look twice as Din’s filthy and well-ridden boots stamp dirt into the pristine carpet, nor as his streaked and sweaty jacket touches the leather of the seat. He does give one faint lift of the eyebrow as Din keeps his helmet on, but doesn’t say anything about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din bounces the child on his leg as Luke drives them through town, and it only takes a moment of orientation to know that Luke is heading towards the richer side of the tracks, where food orders are grander and where the tips are shittier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The apartment complex is not the kind of apartment Din has been imagining, a pod of a home like his own, but one with its own parking attendant and carefully labelled spaces. The elevator doesn’t smell like piss or puke, and the mirror in it is not covered in graffiti’d obscenities. Luke taps a keycard on a reader and presses the button to the top floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din can feel his body tense, the desire to stand more at attention pulling at his limbs like he’s got strings; the bodyguard he’s been to many men as rich as Luke crawling back into his mannerisms. He only doesn’t because he’s still cradling the child, but he keeps his head face-forward and stills his gentle rocking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not so much that he feels out of place; he knows how to act in places like these, knows what’s expected of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only, Luke has continued rattling on at him, and not just as a rich man spewing nonsense at his hired help, but conversing with Grogu as if they have something to converse about. At first Din chalks it up to Luke playing pretend, acting as if he understands, but the more the conversation continues, the more Din feels like he’s lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That does make sense,” Luke admits after nodding his head to Grogu’s babble. “You know, I hadn’t thought about it like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You understand him?” Din eventually asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only dribs and drabs. He’s quite like my old master.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your master burbled like a child?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes, when he was feeling like being mean to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator dings and Luke strides out, turning right down a minimalistic corridor. The corridor, Din realises, is not one broken up into smaller apartments, but is the entrance to the apartment, singular. Whoever Luke is, he lives on the entire upper floor, and if the stairs to the left are any indicator, perhaps more than one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke shoves his suitcase in a corner, but takes more practised care to strip the cape from his shoulders, neatly straightening it out before hanging it on a coat stand.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dump your stuff wherever,” Luke says as he goes about the room picking up stray items of clothing that even Din can tell do not belong to him. “Everybody else does.” Luke dumps the pile of laundry in a basket by the door, then disappears, leaving Din standing by himself in the middle of the grand living room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He takes a careful look around, noting entrances and exits first, then taking in the details. It clearly started as a minimalistic place, sleeks blacks, whites and silvers, but there are odds and ends on nearly every surface; tacky statuettes from dime a dozen gift shops, framed photos books and cups and postcards and nicknacks that Luke, or whoever else lives here, has put down on a surface for that to become its home.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the size and grandeur of the place, it feels homey.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More homey, even, than Din’s own spartan flat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu makes a grabby hand at something he spots on a mantlepiece, so Din takes him to it, handing something small and glinting to Grogu as he inspects the photos. There are dozens of people in them, some in uniforms, many in ragtag adventuring gear, a couple of recurring faces. One is Leia Organa Solo. Beside her is Luke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke </span>
  <em>
    <span>Skywalker</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Din pieces together. Twin brother of the Chief of State of the New Republic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Family issues indeed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke’s fucking the delivery driver, eh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din fights the urge to turn on his heel at the provocation. If he were even a year younger he might have grabbed at one of the ornamental knives on the shelf and thrown first, thinking later. As he is he calmly turns to meet the intruder’s eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din recognises him from the photos - cocky, lean, good-humoured. The man’s eyes flick down from Din’s helmet to the child and up again, and the smarmy smile is replaced with concern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This would be the bike-selling brother-in-law, then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Han says, taking a step back before raising his voice. “Goddamnit Luke, I thought we said no more gifted children!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din hears thundering footsteps and Luke returns through a different door, clearly having been searching for this very man. “I told you if you’re going to come here, not to leave all your stuff lying around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What in case your new </span>
  <em>
    <span>pal</span>
  </em>
  <span> thinks you’re a cheat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my brother,” Luke says to Din, slightly desperately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In-law,” Han qualifies. “And this one’s a fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>baby</span>
  </em>
  <span>, what’s it going to do, drool the school to life?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Grogu starts now, just think what kind of master he’ll be when he’s our age.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you had him delivered to you? Christ, I know your sister’s a politician but child trafficking? Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s Din. He’s Grogu’s father.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you’re going to buy the man’s child from him? Luke, you cannot buy babies from the poor.” Han turns to Din. “Look, guy, I’m sure you’re nice enough but if you’re strapped for cash, take anything from the house and sell it, don’t sell your own kid. It doesn’t end up happy for anyone. This one should know-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not-” Din begins to say, but Luke cuffs Han over the head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not selling his child, Han. I’m going to nanny Grogu as I tutor him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Han’s frown grows. He looks between Din, Luke and Grogu, opens his mouth to say something- then his shoulders slump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not getting the red room,” Han says. “And I’m not getting up at four AM to feed a crying baby.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t cry,” Din says, as Luke says “I’m not letting him touch </span>
  <em>
    <span>any </span>
  </em>
  <span>room you’ve touched, Han.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what have you done with my T-shirts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke points at the basket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like it when you move my stuff.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my house, Han.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah that my wife pays for.” Han looks like he’s about to spit on the floor, but thinks better of it at the last second. “Sorry, by the way,” he says at Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Swearing. In front of the kid.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din looks down, remembers every time Grogu’s been an eager observer of fights started by all manner of cussing attackers. “Yes,” Din says. “Children should not hear swearing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s a note to himself, but Han dips his head, seeming deeply apologetic before disappearing back out into the corridor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Luke says once Han’s gone. “Like I said, revolving door. He gets a bit touchy when my sister is out of town on work trips.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm,” Din says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not as if Luke knew that Din would show up to his class those few hours ago. Wouldn’t have had the time to forge some elaborate cover story about a mysterious master and a new school of martial arts. Wouldn’t risk his sister’s reputation, surely, by kidnapping children and their guardians.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Luke says. “Take a look around if you like. As I said, you’re both welcome here, we have plenty of space, or I can pack a bag.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din thinks about the radiators that don’t work in his flat. About the pipe that’s been slowly filling his kitchen sink with foul water. About the walls and ceilings that are the kind of colour that look like they’re giving off spores that make you very, very ill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks about Grogu’s lungs getting as full of shit as his own, thinks of his hands getting cold at night, his stomach cramping on food gone off in the gross, shitty fridge he can’t replace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get my belongings,” Din says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lights up and goes to grab his cape. “Let me drive you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to, I can-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nonsense,” Luke objects. “HAN!” he calls out in the corridor. “We’re going out! Be back in an hour. You’d better have uninstalled all those IEDs you’ve set by the time we’re home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bombs?” Din asks as he’s herded once more into the elevator.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He likes to make my life a challenge,” Luke says, resigned. “I’ve never detonated one, though he still holds the Roomba incident over me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roomba?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He claims I detonated the bomb he set in my sister’s room, but I swear it was the roomba.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your sister lives here too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only when she wants to go off the grid. So, yeah, pretty much all the time. Her house is mobbed 24/7 with- my sister is Princess Leia, by the way - mobbed with paparazzi, but nobody’s leaked this place yet, so.” Luke turns to Din. “Don’t leak that we live here. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke smiles. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If there was a further place Din could live from Luke’s apartment, Din would live there. As it is, the three of them climb the piss-soaked staircase (the elevator hasn’t worked the entire time Din has lived here,) up to the sixth floor. He shoulders open his door, the buzzing light coming to its faint half-light above them. The room functions as bedroom, living room and kitchen, and Din was lucky to get a place that partitioned the toilet behind a closed door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din places Grogu on their shared mattress, throws his keys on the side and removes his helmet, handing it to Grogu to play with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din runs a hand through his sweat-soaked, matted hair, tousselling it to get it back to some notion of respectable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Luke says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Din looks, Luke is watching him with his mouth half-open. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke blinks, like he’s been broken from a spell, and hastily looks away. “I thought for some reason you might keep it on, even indoors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din frowns. “I can’t hold the helmet and the child at the same time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Right. Yes. That makes sense.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Make yourself at home,” Din says, more because he expects that’s what Luke wants him to say than because it’s a habit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes to the fridge first, filled with the eclectic mix of eggs, egg-shaped goods and neon-coloured delights Grogu has picked out on their shopping trips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hungry?” he asks Luke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t cook on my behalf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything we don’t eat I’ll throw away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din takes out everything perishable, pulls out a pot and dumps it all in, fills it with water and lets it sit on the hob.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As dinner is cooking he takes off his jacket and hoodie together, pulls his shirt over his head and uses it as a towel for his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hasn’t got a suitcase, so he walks to his kitchen sink and pulls out a bin bag. He pulls out the few items of clothes he owns and stuffs them in the bin bag along with the second hand toys he’s been gifted by Cara, Greef and Peli, then takes out a chisel from his toolbox and makes a hole in the wall. He pulls out the money he’s been stockpiling and throws that in with the lot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din glances up to find Luke is still staring. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t open a bank account,” Din says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke frowns. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The… money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The money?” Luke swallows, then looks away, face reddening despite the mild temperature of the room. “Right! The money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Rich people</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Din thinks. He hasn’t got much else in the place that he assumes Luke can provide: Din’s toiletries begin and end with bargain-shelf 2-in-1 products he imagines a pretty boy like Luke would not want gracing any of his bathrooms, guest or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pot has come to a boil now, so he lifts Grogu into a high-chair Cara had found in a tip, laying a plastic spoon for him. He portions the ‘stew’ into three plastic bowls, hands one to Luke and one to Grogu.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu dives into it, making pleased sounds at all the round and ovular floating bits he manages to fish out of the soup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Din checks on Luke, the man is not as displeased about the meal as Din had been expecting. He’s swallowing it down like he’s even enjoying it, mysterious meats and all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once dinner’s done, Din throws the three bowls away, gives the pot a rinse and hefts his bin bag worth of belongings over one shoulder. He hands the baby-carrier to Luke, straps it on and then attaches Grogu to his new teacher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Daddy Din.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din is so focused on recognising General Leia sitting opposite him that her words take a moment to parse, and then he chokes on his coffee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din and Grogu have made Luke’s apartment their home for a week, and now Grogu is used to being woken up at the crack of dawn for Luke’s early regimens, Din is used to having his own breakfast at a slightly more reasonable six, a good four hours before Han begins to roll out of bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what Luke calls you. Loud enough to hear through the walls.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grogu,” Din tries to say, though he’s rather occupied with mopping up the spill of black liquid from the counter before it reaches General Organa’s pristine sleeves. “Grogu’s daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Leia says with profound indifference. “I don’t want any of your excuses, or your explanations. That’s my </span>
  <em>
    <span>brother</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and I respect his decisions, but if you’re raising a child together, you might at least keep your voices down when practising your kinks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din shakes his head, adamant, wishing he had, for once in his life, calmed his bed-head before making coffee. He can imagine that his appearance: ratty t-shirt, ratty joggers, unwashed and unshaven, only confirms this woman’s opinions of him. “We’re not - I’m not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>General Organa raises an eyebrow, raking Din over. “Uh-huh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s my child’s teacher. I’m not fucking your brother, General Organa.” Din winces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yet. Is the coffee fresh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” Din says, “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very good.” Leia fills a travel mug with coffee, dumps a tablespoon of sugar in and closes the lid. “Nice to meet you, Din, I’m sure we’ll see more of each other soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din spends most of the day out, as he did before moving in. As nice as Luke’s offer is, he’s not giving his apartment up yet, and he’s not breaking into his stash until absolutely necessary, so he still goes out to do his long delivery shifts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing that Grogu is not only safe at home but being taught there, taught by a master and not by a team of drunk lesbians bent on corrupting the child and overindulging him with candy is very much a load off of Din’s shoulders, as is the ability to end his shift knowing that Grogu will come to greet him at the door, every time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Today is no different, and he scoops Grogu up as he heads to their room. “You be a good kid today, Grogu?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu babbles what Din assumes is an affirmative, and Din nods as the child continues to tell a story in his language. Grogu’s talkativeness has been a recent and very welcome development, and Din can only assume it means this new environment, this new teacher, is helping Grogu develop out of his shell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din changes into his home clothes then carries Grogu back towards the dojo Luke inexplicably had installed into one of the spare rooms, where he knows Luke will be waiting. Grogu gets his ten minute break to welcome Din home, but then he must return for an evening of meditation before they can stop for dinner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks for coming to see me home, kid,” Din says as he places Grogu in his spot next to Luke. “Thank you for your patience, Master Luke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Will you also be participating today, Din?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din scoffs. It’s not the first time Luke’s asked, but “I’m not an artist-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re a fighter,” Luke echoes, unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll just ruin the peace if I’m here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes,” Luke says at the well-sung argument. Then a look flickers across his face. “Of course, it is actually better for the parent and child to do this element of the education together. The strength of the bond strengthens the core."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sits himself down. Anything for the child’s development, even if it is baby yoga or whatever the hell Luke has Grogu doing in here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now Grogu, shall we show Daddy Din some basic postures?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Baby yoga is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> easy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din is strong. Din is agile. Din can kill and speed and fight and hurt but Din is not, he finds, in any way flexible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke and Grogu’s bodies bend like willow branches as they organise their limbs into knots, and even Grogu has a look on his face that comes shockingly close to unimpressed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first few attempts at this combined form of meditation and stretching were lullingly simple, relaxing, even. Arms over his head, he even had the time to watch as Luke’s movements brought his shirt riding up, disarmingly soft belly exposed, arms strong but languid, eyes closed with a look of serene concentration.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din almost feels guilty at bringing that sort of thought into this hallowed space, but for the thought that both Han and Leia have likely thought and </span>
  <em>
    <span>done </span>
  </em>
  <span>worse to one another.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, Din tells himself, it’s harmless to look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s looked at many people before, but he knows restraint and he knows circumstance. Right person wrong place; wrong person right time; wrong person, wrong place, wrong time. Luke fit into the latter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu’s teacher, nice to look at.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, as if he’s reading Din’s thoughts and punishing him for them, Luke begins to up the complication of the moves, slowly threading Din’s limbs through gaps left by his other limbs like a pretzel. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The strength of the bond strengthens the core,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Din tells himself. This is all for Grogu. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lets Din plead an early retreat, if only by pointing out that if he doesn’t, there’s nobody to cook dinner, and no-one else has quite worked out how to feed Grogu a meal he likes yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just finished dumping a load of mystery meat into a bone broth that costs more than Din’s entire wardrobe of clothes cost him when he hears scratching at the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a burst of sound and movement, the pane of glass explodes inwards as bodies slam through the glass-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cara?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mando! Down! We’re here to extract you. Is the kid safe!?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Extract’?” Din repeats. It only takes a half-second for the misunderstanding to work its way through his brain into understanding, but by then it’s too late. Cara, Fennec, Bo-Katan, Koska and even Peli are spilling through the corridors, weapons up as they split up to clear the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He distantly hears Han scream, and then he hears the sound of a very intense fight from the direction of the dojo. Din drops the pan and runs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din can barely get through the door. Cara has Grogu in one muscled arm, and Luke is surrounded by Fennec, Bo-Katan and Koska. They’ve all clearly had a beating, and nobody looks happy that they’re at a stalemate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Din,” Luke says when he notices him - “They have the child-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want us to kill this punk, Mando, or you want to do the honours yourself?” Fennec makes a feint as she talks, aiming her gun at Luke’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stop. Everyone stop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nobody moves, nobody puts their weapons down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke,” Din says, knowing he’ll have an easier time convincing him than any of the women, “They’re not here to hurt the child. They think they’re saving him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Think</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Koska growls. “He’s been bent. Better to knock him out, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bo-Katan slowly turns her weapon on Din. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen to me. Cara. I don’t need extracting. We’ve not been kidnapped.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what someone who’s been kidnapped would say,” Koska says. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not been kidnapped?” Cara says, visibly confused about the assertion. “Why else would your flat look like it’s been raided. Why else would you disappear without a trace. Why else would-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara’s jaw drops, and she turns her canon of a blaster towards Luke. “You’re being fucked by </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a ripple of disgust through the women, but though the thought is evidently not a desired one, it’s apparently believable enough that they lower their weapons. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who knew our Mando was one for the chic power gay type,” Fennec says, using the tip of her blaster to poke at Luke’s shirt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Koska makes a gagging motion then moves to leave the room. “If we’re not killing anyone, I’m raiding the fridge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“PELI!” Bo-Katan shouts as she follows Koska from the room with Fennec. “Peli, don’t kill anyone! False alarm!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the relative calm, Din turns to Cara. “Master Luke is teaching Grogu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Master’? Uh-uh.” Cara hooks a hand into the scruff of Din’s shirt, dragging him from the dojo. “Not on my watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din falls to the floor as Cara’s hand is smacked away from him, and then he is watching Luke and Cara sparring, Cara still cradling Grogu in one arm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sighs a small, tired sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Luke goes in for a hit, Din dips in, removes Grogu, then removes himself from the room to head back to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushes past the rabble rooting through the fridge and makes it to his pot just in time to save it from boiling over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brings the pot to the table, grabs five more plates than usual, sets the table, then bangs the pot with his wooden spoon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grub,” he says, loud despite not raising his voice. The sounds of sparring pause, as does the rabble crunching their way through the snack cupboard. There’s even the sound of an approaching but muffled crying as Peli rounds the corner, a gagged and trussed Han stumbling in behind her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheepish but silent, Peli, Han, Fennec, Bo-Katan, Koska, Cara, Luke, Grogu and then Din sit at the dining table. “I am not in need of saving. Nor am I fucking, or being fucked by Luke Skywalker. He is teaching Grogu.” Then, to Luke he says “These are my former associates.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, friends,” Peli says in her standard annoyed tone of voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, gang members,” Fennec corrects, mimicking Peli.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Mando’?” Luke asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Mandalorian,” Cara says, pride in her voice. “Best fighter this city’s ever seen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll fix your window,” Din says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Several heads turn to the gaping hole in the side of the building, where a wind is picking up, shards of glass tinkling against the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s rich, let him fix it himself,” Koska says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll fix it,” Din says. “Won’t you Cara.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got a tarp,” Peli says around a lump of mystery meat she’s half-way chewing. She opens the front of her jumpsuit by a fraction and pulls out a folded wad of grey-green plastic, handing it across the table. “Probably got some- ah-hah!” she says as she fishes a roll of duct tape from one of her pockets. “That’ll do you good as new.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bo-Katan,” Cara says, handing the tape and tarp over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want the kid falling out the window?” Cara asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bo-Katan doesn’t reply, just goes, Koska reluctantly getting up to help.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soup’s good,” Peli says into the awkward silence. “Reminds me of home.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Luke agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah?” Peli asks. “They raise Princes on mystery meat and egg stew, do they?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t know,” Luke says, and Peli only makes a small ‘ah’ sound in reply as she re-focuses on the food to avoid digging herself deeper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gang, under Cara’s purview, mop their muddy boot-prints from the floor, sweep the glass, do the dishes, and, eventually, free Han from his ropes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they’re done they leave through the front door-cum-elevator. Not big enough to fit them all, Cara is left alone with Din. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You didn’t let us know,” Cara says. It’s not angry, more disappointed, and that hurts Din more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not part of that world anymore. You’re doing fine without me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. This isn’t Cara Dune angry at the Mandalorian. This is Cara angry at Din. You could have told us where you were going. We’re your friends. Or, at least, I thought we were.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din scans Cara’s face, frowning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara frowns back, before pulling Din into a crushing hug. “We are, Mando. We’re your friends whether you like it or not. You may have this new plush family, but you’re not getting rid of us that easily. We had you first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not my family,” Din objects, only to have his forehead brought into Cara’s with a heavy thunk. “Don’t you let anyone hear you say that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The elevator dings at it comes back up empty, and Cara lets Din go. “Be happy. Get a good fucking if that’s your thing, don’t if it’s not. Either way, I’m sure he’s a nice boy. I give my blessings.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing to bless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re in love, Mando.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cara cocks her gun, a huge grin splitting her face. “You’re in love!” she shouts as the doors close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke and Grogu aren’t in the dojo or the kitchen when Din returns, which leaves only one place: the only room Din hasn’t explored yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke’s bedroom is at the end of the corridor, away from the foot traffic of the busier living room and kitchen areas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din can hear Luke talking so he knocks and waits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re here to complain, Han, go whine on your wife.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din clears his throat. “It’s me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a loud sound, a couple of quieter sounds, and then Luke opens his door, cheeks flushed and outfit different from the one he was wearing a half hour ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Din. Hi.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din looks past Luke and sees Grogu conked out on the bed, snuggled into Luke’s pillow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was looking for the child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Yes. Of course you were.” Luke stops his attempts to lean on the doorframe, righting himself and folding his arms over his chest. “Let me wake him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, no,” Din says. “He had a big day, let him sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn’t let himself sigh, but he can’t quite keep the mixed feelings from his expression. He’s happy Grogu’s comfortable enough sleeping away from Din’s bed, but… </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What if Grogu begins to prefer sleeping here, with Luke? Stops greeting Din at the door when he comes home? Stops wanting Din here in this house with him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to come in?” Luke asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s… this way you don’t have to come to mine to wake him up. This is for the best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Din…” Luke puts a hand on Din’s forearm. “Come in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke retreats back into his room, sitting himself on a floor cushion to the side, settling by a floor-table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din follows reluctantly, depositing himself on the floor with far less grace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Din says. “I’ll have them fix the window first thing. And - and if you don’t want me here anymore, that’s fine too. I can leave. Grogu has settled in, now. I can go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad to see you have friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re not… we worked together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nice that you have people to protect you. I thought…” Luke takes a moment to consider his words. “I was worried you didn’t have anyone to support you. But you do. I’m glad.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din stares at the wall, then tilts his head toward Luke. “Bonds are good for Grogu?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slightly broken smile works its way across Luke’s lips. “When I was trained, I was told by my Master not to forge bonds. Anger, hatred is central to falling prey to the dark side, and I was an impatient farm boy from the middle of nowhere learning how to talk to humans. He wanted me to cut everyone off. No passion, no chaos.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Farm boy?” Din asks, unable to picture this carefully made-up man in rough work gear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Farm boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cows?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish. Water generators. No life for miles, except my aunt and uncle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t imagine a bucket hat on that sleek hair of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who told you that? Was it Han? Did he show you the banned photos? I’m going to kill him. If he says anything about a poncho he’s a filthy liar.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din feels himself smile, an unfamiliar sensation. It makes Luke smile too. “What I’m trying to say is that we’re humans. We can try to be better, to not feel angry at other beings, but that doesn’t come from cutting off all bonds. Yes, it’s good for Grogu to have you, to have others to bond with, to learn with, to care for. It’s also good for you, Din, to have friends. To have people outside of Grogu.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din blinks, feeling a knot build in his throat. He swallows, trying to flush it away, but to his concern it feels like it’s building. “I don’t want Grogu to end up like me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke makes a soft sigh. “I think the world would be a better place with more people like you, Din. But I know what you mean. You hope he doesn’t have to learn the way you did. The hard way. You want to protect him from having to grow up the way you did, even if you did become the person you are because of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din meets Luke’s eye. It’s soft, and warm. It’s comfortable, despite its foreignness. Din doesn’t remember much of his time as a child, but he imagines in a perfect world, this is what it would feel like, encompassed by this feeling of safety. Unburdened by some of the weight of the responsibility of keeping himself and his charge alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Living, not just surviving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din brain short circuits, and then all he can think about is kissing this man, softly, sweetly, and not just now, here, but in the kitchen, in the doorway when he comes home from work, in the dojo when Luke’s distracted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the floodgates open Din’s gaze dips from Luke’s eyes to his lips. Din flushes and then looks away, hoping to the high heavens that Luke didn’t catch the misstep. Dank farrik, just as Din finds a safe, nurturing place for Grogu, he fucks it up by catching feelings.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Suppress</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Din tells himself. Luke never needs to know he’s harbouring these ungrateful feelings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu makes a small sound in his sleep and rolls over, grabbing for someone who’s not there. His face pinches, concern and fear working across his features.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should stay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In your bed?” Din asks, horrified at the thought of embarrassing himself </span>
  <em>
    <span>seconds </span>
  </em>
  <span>after choosing to suppress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I meant in this house but-” Luke says in a rush, “Yes. In the bed, too. If you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because of Grogu.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. Yeah,” Luke says. “Because of Grogu. Bonds. Safety. Er, core. Teachings.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Core teachings.” Din agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you…” Luke clears his throat. “Grogu and I get up earlier, so you should take the side near the wall. So I don’t have to climb over you. To get out. If that’s good with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Makes sense. Yes. Right. Good.” Luke stands and makes an awkward gesture towards the bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din gets up, brushes his clothes down with his hands, as if that might make him more clean, and then steps over Grogu and settles in, back to the wall, leaving as much space as is humanly possible. The bed is large, as all the beds in this house are, but he still feels like an imposition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sensing him, Grogu makes a pleased face, the worry smoothing out of his features until he’s crawled into Din’s chest, fingers gripping at Din’s shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Din looks up, Luke is watching them like if he approaches he’ll ruin the scene, so Din closes his eyes, like a child pretending that if he can’t see anything, nobody can see him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It works though, and he feels Luke carefully slide under the covers, movements as careful and composed as ever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you’re here,” Luke says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He doesn’t cry in his sleep,” Din says. “He wouldn’t have been any trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lets out a half-laugh of a snort, as if Din hasn’t understood him properly, but he doesn’t press it. “Goodnight, Din. Sleep well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is early in the morning when Din comes to a sudden wakefulness, earlier even than usual, when Luke knocks on his door. There’s the usual crushing weight of Grogu on his chest, a wet patch of the child’s drool cooling against his skin, but there’s also a completely new sensation against his neck; human breath. His body tenses, limbs desperate to hit; stun; escape, but his brain is trying to garble something at him. Something about the familiarity of the smell, of the feel of soft hair against his ear, about-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke, he realises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The weight across his chest isn’t just Grogu but Luke’s arm, and there’s a leg thrown across his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It won’t be long until Luke and Grogu wake for their morning meditations. He can calm his heartbeat before Luke awakes. Din takes a breath, like Luke has taught him, and he thinks about the words Luke chants when he and Grogu meditate. Calm, peace, suppress.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din finds he’s managed to doze off again, and when he re-awakes Luke and Grogu have gone. He stretches out in Luke’s bed, luxuriating in the feel of clean, warm sheets and the smell of Luke, and then he guiltily extracts himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He makes Luke’s bed, then takes himself to the kitchen to prepare his breakfast and the boys’ lunches. He gets dressed, takes a moment to listen to the sparring in the dojo, then heads to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke looks at the clock on the wall and frowns. He’s never set a time for how long Grogu’s evening break is, but Din has always brought him back within ten minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s going on three quarters of an hour, now, and he can’t hear anything from the direction of the doorway. He doesn’t want to impose in their time, but he cracks open the door and peeks in the direction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu is sat in front of the door, his ears sad. “No daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu doesn’t turn around, as if in the seconds it takes to look at Luke, Din might come in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke turns on his phone; he doesn’t use it much, especially when he’s training, but he’s given Din his number in case of emergencies. He feels a weight grow in his stomach as he watches the machine boot up, not sure what he’s hoping for. No message, no emergency. Or a text, saying Din’s taken up another job so he’ll be home an hour late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s nothing for a few seconds, and then a notification appears. A missed call from Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke immediately taps to call back, but the phone just rings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calm. Calm. Don’t let Grogu worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright Grogu, how’s about you spend some time with Uncle Han, huh?” Luke scoops Grogu up, but Grogu fights against him, struggling against his grip as Luke attempts to bring him in the direction of Han’s room. He makes desperate noises, pointing towards the lift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke doesn’t need to be told twice. He smashes the button of the lift, and it takes every single second of his decades of training not to keep pressing it, as if the more time he presses it the faster it’ll descend. He takes a moment to regret not going for the stairs - at least that way he could run - </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calm. Calm. Patience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din is strong, and Din is capable. He’s 45 minutes late. It was one missed call. A missed call was good. He could still make a call, which meant he was still alive-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Calm. </span>
</p>
<ol>
<li><span> 2. 1-</span></li>
</ol><p>
  <span>Luke is almost pressed against the doors as they open, squeezing through the gap and looking around the carpark-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu squirms to the left and Luke follows the child’s intuition, sprinting across the empty lot and turning corners until-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Din-</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din is standing. Barely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's buckled over his bike, or the mutilated remains of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke takes a stumbling step towards Din, then goes running, catching the man as he crumples to his knees. The side of Din's helmet is cracked, the plastic carved into sharp, tooth-like shards. What Luke can glimpse of Din's face is caked in blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay," Luke says. "I have you." </span>
</p><p>
  <span> Luke puts Grogu on the ground, who waddles towards Din, grabbing onto his leg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm fine," Din croaks, very much not sounding fine as he allows Luke to bear the brunt of his weight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Why didn't you call an </span>
  <em>
    <span>ambulance</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Luke says, bringing out his phone, only to have Din put his hand over it with a soft "no hospitals."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke makes a distressed sound, but he's not confident he'll be able to carry Din to a hospital even at half-capacity, so he half-drags Din towards the elevator, and he allows the clinging Grogu to tap the top button.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Nearly there," Luke calms, though he's not entirely sure who he's addressing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lays Din on his bed, then has a bit of a panic about what he's supposed to do next. "What happened? No, no, where are you hurt?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just bruises," Din says weakly, trying to nudge his helmet off his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, stop that," Luke says. "You might have some shards in you, if you pull them you'll bleed out."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just sleep," Din tries, voice tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"And a concussion. You should stay awake."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't wanna."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Grogu, keep him awake."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu takes the command with zeal, clambering on Din's chest and jumping on him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke grabs some clean towels then slowly begins to peel the helmet off, taking care to make sure he's not making it any worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What did you hit, a truck?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Truck hit me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That was supposed to be a joke," Luke says as he carefully lays Din's now helmet-less head back on his pillow. His hair is matted with sweat and clotting blood, but the cuts seem shallow when he dabs at them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke does a quick check over the rest of Din's body but can't find any misplaced joints or broken bones, nor is there a huge gash leaking vital fluids. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now he’s got no helmet to protect him, Grogu pinches at Din’s cheeks, poking and prodding. Luke scoots further on to the bed, and can’t help sweeping Din’s hair from his forehead. If Din is awake enough to feel the softness of the touch, then he’ll just assume Luke’s still checking him for wounds, not taking liberties while he’s down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din’s hair is thick; feels lush in Luke’s fingers. He strokes what he hopes are calming motions into Din’s head, tucking the short hair behind Din’s ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe this’ll teach you not to ride so recklessly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din scoffs. “He hit me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I’m sure you didn’t appear out of nowhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke sighs, takes back his hand. “Your life’s not your own anymore Din. You have people who would be sad if you died.” Luke goes to pick up the discarded clothes and bloody towels. “You have people who love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn’t reply, but Luke trusts Grogu will raise all hell should Din fall unconscious, so he takes the laundry out of the room and goes looking for a first aid kit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din isn’t so surprised when he wakes up the next morning to find both Grogu and Luke curled protectively around him again, though he does instantly regret coming into consciousness when his body remembers how battered he is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu feels particularly heavy this morning when even breathing feels like his ribs are attempting to crush him. Luke’s hand is buried beneath Din’s t-shirt, centimeters from where Din can feel his skin has been rubbed raw by the tarmac. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries to push either off, but his muscles protest even being raised, let alone being put to use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Luke,” he tries, but it comes out more croak than voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grogu stirs, but only to cling harder to Din, really pushing down into his bruises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Supposing he’s not getting out of either of their grips without calling a tactical escape team, Din closes his eyes and attempts to drift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look like you’ve been run over by a truck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn’t pause from bringing the spoon of porridge to his mouth. “I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>General Organa makes a vague “ah,” before helping herself to coffee. “You have people who love you, Din.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke said the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke told you?” Leia looks surprised, but pleased. “Didn’t think he had it in him. Good on you. Good on the both of you. You deserve love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right after he lectured me on being a reckless idiot looking for an early grave.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pah. Rich coming from him.” Leia takes one look at the confusion on Din’s face and smiles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reaches into her inner jacket pocket and pulls out a wallet, sliding a photo across towards Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Luke was a pilot. Reckless, daredevil flyboy. Can’t count the amount of times I’ve picked his skinny ass up from hospital. Some hypocrite, lecturing you about recklessness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din touches the photo. It’s a Luke a similar age to, or possibly younger even than the one on the baby yoga poster. Luke is standing in a hanger beside his jet, pride visible. Moisture farmer, daredevil pilot, martial arts tutor. “He’s had an interesting life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t know the half of it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A hard life.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d make it harder if you left in the middle of the night without leaving a note.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din lets his spoon sink into the porridge, appetite leaving him. “I shouldn’t be here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where should you be?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bleeding out in a gutter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh,” Leia says, unimpressed. “By all means go ahead. Luke needs one more reason to cut himself off from the rest of society and become the grumpy, isolationist hermit his master always wanted him to be. Go on then, break his heart. Let him bring up your child as a spiteful middle-age man who’s decided never to love again. I’m sure he’ll find a lovely deserted island to be emo on. Be my guest, Din Djarin.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din frowns. “You know my name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not letting my brother fall in love for some nameless man he’s found on the street.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you will when the nameless man is-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Mandalorian himself. Or, ex-Mandalorian, if our sources are to be believed. Better the devil you know, as the adage goes. I wouldn’t stop my brother falling for anyone. I just believe in knowing how to find them should they break his fragile baby bird of a heart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Din says, suddenly exhausted. “No need to worry about that. Your brother doesn’t love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Lord,” Leia says. “We’re still at that stage, are we? Well you’d better make sure of that before you continue sharing his bed, or it’ll be a bit late to ask.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, yes,” Leia says over the top of him. “Believe what you must, I don’t have time.” Leia checks her watch and sighs. “I never have enough time. But that’s the way of the world. Give my love to the boys,” she says, “And keep the photo, I hope you’ll take better care of it than me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Din goes to get changed into his work uniform, he finds none of his jackets in his closet. He goes to check the laundry but there’s only a piece of paper atop the washer that reads ‘absolutely not, Din.’ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t find his helmet, or his boots. There’s a post-it note on the elevator that says in Luke’s chicken scratch scrawl: ‘don’t even think about it.’</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din sighs, depositing himself on a sofa in the living room. He takes the photo of the young pilot Luke from his pocket and stares at it. Something must have happened to this boy, he supposed, for him to have become the man he is now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Leia had implied…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That perhaps Din’s feelings were not unreciprocated?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din closes his eyes, letting the photo rest against his forehead.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>What do I want from him</span>
  </em>
  <span>? Din asks, and surprises himself by asking </span>
  <em>
    <span>What do I want from this life</span>
  </em>
  <span>? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din has spent the majority of his life moving from mission to mission, day to day, second to second. No time to plan a life, no desire to endanger anyone by letting them get close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A family, a child, the white picket fence, that’s not- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s not what people like him-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s not what people like him deserve, it’s not what they get-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din’s breaths come faster. But he has the child. He has the family. This building might not have the picket fence but he does meal prep, and grocery runs, and knows what laundry detergent to use to get his clothes smelling like Luke’s, and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He might not have done it in the right order, but he’s-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But why does this realisation fill him with fear? He’s not panicked about anything since- He feels like he can’t breathe, can’t think-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because now that he has this, it’s only a matter of time before it’s ripped away-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Luke, Leia, Cara, even Han- they’re right- he does love Luke, he loves Grogu, he loves this whole mismatched, cobbled together family-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yesterday he got hit by a truck. Who’s to say Luke won’t get in a car crash tomorrow, that Grogu won’t fall from a height while they’re not looking, that Cara won’t get shot-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn’t immediately throttle his assailant when he feels a forehead meet his own, but only because he can’t seem to move any of his limbs, can’t breathe-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Din. I’m here. I’m here. Can you breathe with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The voice is making exaggerated breathing sounds, but his hair feels soft, familiar against Din’s skin. There are hands on Din’s arms, patting regular beats, calming like a mother patting the back of a crying child.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din has to struggle to get a hold of his breathing, it coming in stops and starts, now, but he has something to follow, patterns to copy, a structure to latch onto. Eventually he’s breathing deep and slow with the voice, with Luke, and he realises his own hands are gripping Luke’s gi tight. Luke is holding himself over Din on the sofa, and Din can’t stand the near-proximity. He wraps his arms around Luke’s middle and pulls him down, needing-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He isn’t sure what he needs, but-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A hug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke lets out a comical oof as he’s crushed by Din’s arms, but he doesn’t struggle, in fact makes himself comfortable, mumbling the same calming coos that have become so regular in Din’s life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to die,” Din says into Luke’s neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that a threat or an observation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You, and Grogu, and Cara. If I love you, you’ll die.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is no death, there is the Force,” Luke quotes. “We all die, Din. You might as well love while you can.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could die,” Din says. “Grogu can’t- he’ll be a foundling again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We all die,” Luke says again. “One day, force willing, Grogu will mourn his father. Then he’ll move on, knowing that your spirit watches over him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din squeezes Luke tighter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, Din,” Luke says. “Thought I’d take my own advice. In the romantic fashion. I love you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din can only nod.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din wakes up disoriented. He’s not in his bed, he’s not weighed down by familiar bodies, nor is it morning. He sits up groggily, recognising that he’s on the living-room sofa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a longer moment than usual for his brain to catch up, and he flushes at the memory of hyperventilating over his new-found discovery of his mortality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flushes harder at the ghost of the sensation of clutching Luke close, at being told that Luke-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Morning, sunshine.” Din jolts, head turning to find Han. “Jesus, you look like you’ve been-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-run over by a truck, yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Didn’t know my boy was into the hardcore shit. Not surprised, though. It’s always the quiet ones,” Han says, taking a long gulp of his coffee mug. “Your boyfriend told me to tell you that dinner’s on the table.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not-” Din starts, but gives up. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din doesn’t know the etiquette for their particular situation. Dinner was quiet, uneventful. Han made lecherous comments while Luke and Din took turns alternating between feeding Grogu and telling Han to be quiet, until Han was relegated to washing and drying duty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din had left Han and Grogu to their evening session while he changed out of his grubby clothes and washed his face, splashing water on himself as if that might disguise the teary and reddened eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He ends up outside Luke’s bedroom door again, hand raised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Is this- is this what they’re doing now? This is where Grogu is, though, so even if it’s not the etiquette, Din has an excuse to be here. He’s taking Grogu back to his own room, he’s-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to knock?” Luke asks from the doorway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m-” Din lowers his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Grogu is meditating,” Luke says. “I thought it best he take slightly longer tonight to rest his mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din nods, trying to impart gratitude, appreciation, agreement- his hand reaches for Luke’s and he squeezes. “Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, Din.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke blinks, as if it takes a moment for him to understand the words, and then his face splits with a bright grin. “You do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both men, at a loss for how to continue, take a moment, only for Din to laugh. It’s a nervous laugh, but a happy one, and it only seems to make Luke’s joy more emboldened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke cups his hands around Din’s neck, and Din’s hands automatically come to rest on Luke’s hips. “I love you too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Din laughs again, then rests his forehead against Luke’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did have to confiscate the photo, though,” Luke says, voice lowering to a whisper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The one you were gripping while having your little panic earlier. I don’t know who gave it to you, but it’s too close to poncho-era, which makes it a banned photo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That really does make Din laugh, and laugh so hard his whole body feels like it’s floating; his body, his very soul levitated by the man before him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can feel Luke’s own smile as his lips press to the corner of Din’s in a chaste kiss, and then Luke is letting go to pull Din into the room and closing the door behind them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke goes around his room doing his evening routine, leaving Din to get into bed behind a definitely-not-meditating-anymore Grogu, who shifts in his sleep to latch onto Din.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luke turns off the lights and climbs in, completing the sandwich. This time, though, Luke reaches across Grogu, taking one of Din’s hands in his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They meet eyes and Din is filled with that sensation of calm again. Of safety, and of love. He feels like he’s melting into this bed, into this life, his hard skin and his hard heart defenceless against the tides that are the love of Luke Skywalker and of their child, Grogu. </span>
</p>
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